Outback Surgeon
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Leah Martyn
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CHAPTER ONE
‘THANKS, guys. That was terrific!’
Off camera, the television producer favoured his guests with a satisfied grin, his gaze lingering with obvious approval on the female of the pair, Dr Abbey Jones.
Abbey dredged up a dry smile. ‘I’m always happy to comment on rural health matters, Rob. You know that. But next time, warn me if I’m here for a debate, will you?’ Lifting her chin, she sent a cool, tawny look at her opponent in the debate, Dr Nicholas Tonnelli.
Tonnelli’s mouth quirked in a smile that just missed being patronising and she practically had to force herself to accept the hand he extended to formally end their debate.
‘You presented an irresistible challenge, Dr Jones.’
Abbey took a shallow breath as her hand vanished inside his. His touch was warm and dry and his green eyes gleamed down at her. ‘I enjoyed our encounter,’ he added softly.
Disconcerted, she reclaimed her hand as though she feared being burned by the impact, turning away to gather up her hastily scribbled notes. Her lungs heaved in a controlling breath. Her hands, with a mind of their own, began shoving the A4 pages awkwardly into her briefcase.
Chewing her bottom lip, Abbey reluctantly admitted that Tonnelli had been a formidable opponent, his skilled ad lib presentation spurring her on to try to salvage something even halfway credible for her side of the argument.
And it had hardly been fair of Rob, she remonstrated silently, pitting her, a rural GP, against one of Sydney’s up and coming spinal surgeons.
Physically, he hadn’t been what she’d expected either. But, then, what had she expected? Occasionally, when she’d flipped through the Sydney newspapers, she’d glimpsed pictures of him in the social pages. But now, having met him in the flesh, she had to admit that the black and white images hadn’t done him justice. They’d certainly given no indication of the man’s almost tangible charisma.
She caught back a huff of irritation. Perhaps he’d won the debate, perhaps he hadn’t. But whatever the TV ratings showed, she’d just bet his high-voltage sexy smile had sizzled all the way to the female viewers’ little hearts.
But not to hers. Heavens, she wasn’t that easily taken in!
A glance at her watch told her she’d have to forego the coffee and cake Rob usually offered and make a quick exit from the studio.
‘I’m just off, Rob.’ Her professional smile in place, Abbey looked to where the two males were seemingly in close private conversation beside the now-darkened set.
‘Already?’ Rob Stanton turned, taking several quick strides towards her. ‘Thanks again, Abbey, for making yourself available at such short notice. You saved my bacon.’
A chink of wry humour lit her smile. ‘A nice fat donation to our hospital funds should be in order, then.’
‘Hey, you’ve got it!’ Rob was enthusiastic, as though he’d thought of the idea himself. ‘I’ll OK it right away.’
‘Thanks,’ Abbey murmured and shot a level look at Tonnelli. ‘Goodbye, Doctor.’ She began to turn away and then took a quick breath, her senses clanging when the surgeon moved fast enough to block her way as she made to go past him.
‘Do you have to rush off, Dr Jones?’
Abbey glared at him, realising belatedly that now they were not seated, she had to raise her gaze a good six inches to meet his eyes. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Let me buy you lunch.’
‘No, thank you.’
‘What’ve I done?’ The charismatic, mocking face was close to hers and she felt every nerve in her body contract. His mouth, wearing its sexy smile, was getting close to hers, so close she could feel the warm whisper of his breath, take in the clean smell of sandalwood soap on his skin.
Get out of my space, she wanted to tell him calmly and coolly. Instead, she felt her insides grind painfully, as she took an uncertain step backwards, rocking a little on her high heels. ‘If you don’t mind, Dr Tonnelli, I have a tight schedule today. I just want to get on with my own business.’
‘Oh, come on, Doctor…We’re off camera now. Can’t we bury the hatchet?’ he asked, his tone almost an amused drawl.
Abbey tried to fix him with a steely glare and failed miserably. ‘I don’t have time to sit around having long lunches, Dr Tonnelli.’
He lifted a shoulder dismissively. ‘It needn’t necessarily be a long lunch. I know a place where the service is fast and the food actually pretty good.’
‘McDonald’s?’ Abbey parried innocently.
His mouth gave the merest twist of a smile. ‘A little more upmarket. Margo’s. Heard of it?’
‘No.’
When she still hesitated, he added persuasively, ‘Surely you usually eat something before you head off on that long drive back to Wingara?’
‘I usually just grab a sandwich or some fruit to eat in the car.’ Abbey began to feel pushed into a corner, almost mesmerised by the subtle challenge in his eyes. And they couldn’t stand here much longer. The TV crew packing up their gear were beginning to latch onto the possibility of some gossip. ‘Oh, all right, then,’ she said, uncomfortably aware her acceptance sounded ungracious, explaining, ‘I’ve a dozen things still to do and a patient to see at Sunningdale rehab centre before I head back west, so I’ll need to keep it short, OK?’
‘Deal.’ He looked pleased. Or rewarded, Abbey thought waspishly, watching him. ‘Did you come by cab?’ he asked.
Oh, for heaven’s sake! Who could afford cabs any more? ‘I drove my own vehicle. I’m parked outside.’
‘Me too.’ Moving smoothly away from her, he opened the heavy glass door to the foyer.
This is crazy, Abbey fretted, her heart fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird as they made their way past the flowering shrubs to the car park. And why did it have to be him she’d had to cross swords with and ruin her day? There were any number of registrars at the district hospital Rob could have approached to fill the gap. But, then, they wouldn’t have had the impact of Tonnelli.
She sighed and brought her head up, her fair silky bob sliding back from her cheekbones, her thoughts still on the surgeon. It was rumoured in medical circles that he was a genius at just about anything he turned his mind to. A man firmly at the centre of his own universe.
Not to mention his reputation with women…
Well, I don’t want him propositioning me, she decided through gritted teeth, coming to a stop beside the door of her maroon Range Rover. ‘This is me.’ Her shoulder brushed against his upper arm, and she found herself staring into his eyes. And taking a sharp little breath. His eyes had the luminosity of an early-morning ocean, she thought fancifully. A kind of wintergreen…
‘I’m over there.’
She blinked, following the backward flex of his thumb to the metallic grey Jaguar. It suits him, she decided, having no trouble at all personifying the car’s sleek elegance and controlled power and making the comparison with its owner.
‘It’s probably best if you follow me.’ He looked at her from under slightly lowered lids. ‘Margo’s is rather tucked away, an old house that’s been refurbished into a restaurant. But I’m afraid the parking’s non-existent—just stop along the street, wherever you can.’ He raised the briefest smile. ‘See you there in a bit.’
Abbey nodded assent, climbing into her vehicle, tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering-wheel, her gaze following his tall, lithe figure as he strode towards his vehicle on the periphery of the car park.
Her wide, sensitive mouth with its gloss of soft coral firmed into a moue of conjecture. Just what was Nicholas Tonnelli doing here in Hopeton anyway? As far as she knew he didn’t operate anywhere outside his own hospital, St Thomas’s in Sydney’s rather affluent North Shore area. So what had brought him here to a small provincial city in the Central West of New South Wales in the middle of a working week?
He’d almost blown it.
Nick Tonnelli wondered why he’d pushed her so hard. ‘Male ego at its worst,’ he muttered, grimacing with self-derision, groping in the glove box for his sunglasses. But she had accepted his invitation, hadn’t she? Yeah, right! Reluctantly, mate. Get real.
A tight little smile drifted around his mouth. Who’d have thought spending a couple of days R and R in his home town and doing a favour for his mate, Rob Stanton, would have led to his meeting someone like the feisty, quite delectable Dr Abbey Jones?
The lady was like a breath of sweet, clean air. And he’d become so bored with the Sydney social scene lately. So utterly, utterly bored.
Abbey glanced across the car park once more. At last! Tonnelli was in motion. In a kind of sick anticipation, she lowered her hand to the ignition switch, her mind simultaneously agonising over what on earth they’d find to talk about over lunch.
Alternatively, she supposed she could save herself the grief and lose him deliberately on the way to the restaurant…A jagged laugh caught in her throat at the very idea.
The journey to Margo’s was completed quite quickly, with Abbey keeping Tonnelli’s distinctive vehicle in sight as she followed him in and out of several back streets, until he indicated he was about to stop and she glanced sideways and saw the restaurant’s sign.
She looked in vain for a parking spot and ended up having to drive further along the narrow street, scattering tiny bits of gravel, when she finally ground her four-wheel-drive to a halt.
Tonnelli gave her an apologetic half-smile when she joined him outside the restaurant. ‘The food will more than compensate for the parking hassles,’ he promised, guiding her along the flagstone path to the entrance.
Although it was just on midday, the place was already filled with the hushed sounds of patrons dining—a muted hum of conversation, the soft clink of cutlery on china—and an absolutely delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen.
‘Oh, it’s lovely!’ Abbey’s comment was spontaneous. Entranced, she looked around her at the walls, papered with a country-style pattern of meadowsweet flowers, and at the framed prints, each one essentially outback Australian, depicting the lifestyles of its drovers, ringers and stockmen.
Told you so, Tonnelli’s little nod of satisfaction seemed to imply. ‘It’s a blackboard menu.’ His dark head was turned attentively towards her. ‘We’ll order first and then with a bit of luck we’ll find a table.’ His green gaze swept over the precincts. ‘It’s crowded today. The livestock sales must be on in town.’ He considered the blackboard. ‘Ah, it’s Italian today. Fancy some pasta?’
Abbey’s teeth caught on her lower lip. ‘I think I’ll just have the house salad, thanks.’
‘OK.’ Nick Tonnelli tapped his fingers on the polished countertop, considering his own choice. ‘But you must try one of their stuffed potatoes,’ he insisted. ‘And the home-made bread.’
Abbey spread her hands helplessly. ‘You must think I need fattening up.’
‘Hardly.’ His eyes softened for a moment. ‘I’d say the packaging is perfect as it is.’ He added a slow, very sweet smile then, and it was as though his fingers played over her skin.
For a split second Abbey registered a riveting awareness between them. Raw and immediate. Like an electric current and just as tangible. She swallowed thickly. ‘I’ll, um, freshen up while you order, then.’
‘Will you have something to drink?’ He detained her with the lightest touch to her forearm. ‘White wine, perhaps?’
Abbey considered her options swiftly. ‘A mineral water, I think. I’ve a long drive ahead of me.’
‘We’ll meet at the bar, then.’ Two little lines appeared between his dark brows. ‘Don’t do a runner on me, will you?’
Abbey felt the heat warm her cheeks as she spun away. How had he guessed she’d actually considered it? Perhaps he read minds along with his other talents, she thought cynically.
In the restroom, she did a quick make-up repair. Taking out her small cosmetic bag, she freshened her lipstick, swiped a comb through her hair and added a squirt of her favourite cologne.
In the mirror with its lovely old-fashioned gilded frame, she looked critically at her reflection, unnerved to see a flush in her cheeks she hadn’t seen there in ages.
She was suddenly conscious of her stomach churning. She must have been crazy to have agreed to this lunch, she berated herself for the umpteenth time. She and Tonnelli had nothing in common. For starters, their lifestyles had to be poles apart.
As a senior surgeon in a state-of-the-art hospital, he could have no concept of her world, she reflected thinly. Her little hospital at Wingara was reasonably well equipped, mostly due to the tireless money-raising efforts of the locals. But even so it had to be light years away from what she imagined as Tonnelli’s clinical environment.
She hitched up her shoulder-bag, her mind throwing up yet again the question of what on earth would they find to talk about. Heart thrumming, she left the restroom and began making her way back to the bar. She saw him at once, his distinctive dark head with its short cut turning automatically, almost as if he’d sensed her approach. ‘Thanks.’ Abbey took the drink he handed to her.
‘I believe there’s a table for us in the garden room.’ He began leading the way towards the rear of the restaurant to a cleverly conceived extension like a conservatory, complete with glass walls and ceiling.
He saw her comfortably seated and Abbey took a moment to look around her. Their table was set with crisp, palest cream linen, gleaming silver and glass-ware, and decorating the centre was a trailing arrangement of multicoloured garden flowers. She felt her spirits lift and decided to make a huge effort. ‘I’m actually looking forward to our lunch.’
‘Much better than a sandwich from the deli,’ he agreed. ‘Cheers.’ Lifting his glass of ice-cold lager, he took a mouthful. ‘I asked for our peasant bread to be brought first. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’
Even as he finished speaking, a smiling waitress placed the still-warm loaf on the table with the accompanying little pats of butter.
Abbey eyed the crusty, flour-dusted high round loaf hungrily, feeling her digestive juices begin to react.
‘This looks good, hmm?’ Without hesitation, Nick Tonnelli took up the breadknife, wielding it with surgical precision, separating the loaf quickly and efficiently into easily manageable portions.
Watching him, Abbey said faintly, ‘You must be a whiz with the Sunday roast, Dr Tonnelli.’
‘Each to his own talent, Abbey,’ he responded blandly. ‘And for crying out loud, call me Nick.’
‘Tell me about your patient in the rehab centre.’ Nick Tonnelli’s tone was suddenly professional and brisk.
Startled, Abbey looked up from her plate. Was he just being the polite host? she wondered. Pretending an interest? Making conversation for the sake of it? Whatever he was doing, she could hardly ignore such a pointed demand.
‘His name is Todd Jensen. He’s a twenty-five-year-old professional rodeo rider.’ She looked bleak for a moment. ‘Although I probably should be using the past tense here. It’s almost certain we won’t see him back on the rodeo circuit again.’
Nick’s dark brows rose. ‘What was it, a workplace accident of some kind?’
‘Todd was participating in a buckjumping event. His mount threw him and in its panic struck him on the lower back with its hind hooves.’
The consultant winced and murmured a commiseration.
‘It was a dreadful afternoon,’ Abbey said quietly. ‘Everyone was so shocked. Fortunately, the CareFlight chopper was on standby. Todd was flown straight here to Hopeton.’
Nick’s mouth compressed. ‘What did the MRI show? That’s assuming he had one?’
‘Of course he did.’ Abbey resented his inference that Todd had somehow received second-class medical attention.
‘The new scanning devices for magnetic resonance imaging are ruinously expensive,’ Nick clarified. ‘I merely wondered whether the district hospital here had managed to install one.’
‘They have,’ Abbey conceded guardedly. ‘Mostly due to the efforts of Jack O’Neal and his committee.’
Nick rubbed a hand around his jaw. ‘He’s the SR on Kids’, isn’t he?’
Abbey nodded. ‘Jack and his wife, Geena, are tireless fundraisers for the hospital.’
‘Commendable.’
‘Essential, seeing the shortfall in funding for rural hospitals.’
Nick acknowledged her comment politely. ‘To get back to your patient. What did the MRI show?’
‘Irreversible nerve damage.’
Nick frowned. ‘So, what’s his prognosis?’
Biting her lower lip, not sure where they were going with this, Abbey elaborated, ‘A wheelchair existence. His accident placed a cloud over our whole community. Todd was well liked, a kind of icon to the young kids. And very good at what he did. The really sad part is he’d had an invitation from one of the rodeo associations in the States. He was about to take off and try his luck in the big time.’
She ran the pad of her thumb across the raised pattern of her glass. ‘He’s still so angry. Just recently, he told his wife to go and make a new life for herself—that he was only half a man…’
‘So he’s dropped the ball. That’s a fairly normal reaction, Abbey,’ Nick pointed out reasonably. ‘At the moment his feelings have to be loaded with issues of masculinity and virility so, of course, he’s told his wife to get lost. What’s more to the point is what’s being done presently for your patient? For starters, is his medication up to scratch? How intense is his physio programme? Has there been input from a psychologist? An occupational therapist?’
Abbey lifted her head and regarded him warily. He seemed in his element, rapping out questions. While she, on the other hand, felt as though she were under the microscope, almost an intern again being put through a consultant’s wringer.
The silence stretched for a tense moment, until Abbey responded steadily, ‘Todd’s programme is as good as Sunningdale can provide. And distance-wise, it suits his family to have him there. At least they can make the three-hour drive once a week to see him. But realistically, I’d guess, he’s gone about as far as he can go there. Sunningdale will want to discharge him soon.’
‘And then what?’
Abbey frowned. ‘Well, at this stage his parents are proposing to have him back home with them.’
‘In the bush?’
She tilted her chin defensively. ‘That’s where they live.’
Nick made an impatient sound. ‘What’s he going to do there, cut wood for the fire from his wheelchair?’ The surgeon shook his head. ‘Surely we can do better than that, Abbey? Have you heard of the Dennison Foundation in Sydney?’
Abbey frowned. ‘It’s a fairly recent concept, isn’t it?’
‘State of the art in every way. Structured specifically for spinal rehab, with patients being taught how to accustom themselves to the physical realities of being disabled in an able-bodied world. I’m sure you’d see a great improvement in your Todd’s ability to cope after a stay there. I’d refer him urgently, if I were you.’
A flush of annoyance rose in Abbey’s cheeks. ‘Ever heard of waiting lists, Doctor? Besides, his family couldn’t afford those kinds of fees. And I can’t imagine the management would be prepared to cut a special deal on a rural GP’s referral.’
‘What if I referred him?’
Something like resentment stirred in Abbey and she couldn’t let go of it. ‘Why should you bother? Todd’s nothing to you.’
Nick Tonnelli’s expression closed abruptly. ‘As professionals, isn’t it up to all of us who go under the guise of medical practitioners to assist all humankind where we can? So, Doctor, I suggest you pocket your false pride and face the facts as we have them.
‘I’m willing to carry out a reassessment on your patient. Like Todd, I’m good at what I do. Maybe I can help him further. Maybe I can’t. But I’m willing to try and if you think my name will help, I’ll refer him to the Dennison, if I deem it appropriate. It’s up to you.’
Abbey clenched her hands on her lap and stared at them fiercely. He’d given her a terrible dressing-down. All done so quietly and lethally. Dear God! How she would hate to have to work with the man! Thoughts, none of them pleasant, crowded in on her. She should never have agreed to this lunch. She should have quit while she was ahead and left him standing in the car park, watching her dust.
She took a deep breath and tried to leave personal issues out of it. Todd’s youthful face, stark with hope one minute and dark with despair the next, impinged on her vision. Much as she hated to admit it, Tonnelli was right. Pride had no place here. She would swallow hers, no matter how galling it might be, and ask for his help.
‘When could you see Todd?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘I mean…I don’t know your movements…If you have other commitments here…’ She broke off helplessly.
He bit into his bread, his even white teeth leaving a neat half-circle. ‘We could start the ball rolling after our lunch, if that suits you.’
‘Fine.’ Abbey teased at her lip. She should have known that once the decision was made, he’d want to sweep ahead.
‘I would prefer to keep my involvement quite informal, if you don’t mind,’ he said easily. ‘I’ll need some time to study Todd’s case details and speak with the staff, his physio and OT in particular.
‘If I decide the programme at the Dennison will benefit Todd, I’ll speak personally with the director, Anna Charles.’ At once his expression lightened. ‘We trained together. She’s done extensive post-grad work at Harvard. A brilliant practitioner. Todd couldn’t be in better hands.’
Abbey blinked uncertainly. ‘And would she take him—just like that?’
‘As a favour to me? Yes, she would.’ He smiled, a mere sensual curving of his lips.
Abbey felt her cheeks burn as the possible meaning behind his remark occurred to her. She pulled in a shattered breath. Forget Tonnelli and his women and think of Todd, she told herself with quiet desperation. ‘What about the fees?’
Nick lifted a dismissive shoulder. ‘I’ll arrange something. Nothing in this life is set in concrete, Abbey. Nothing at all.’
